Tulips of Yellow
by Whistling Jester
Summary: As Flack slowly starts to gain the ability to move on, a dangerous killer begins to terrorize the city, causing his personal and professional lives to collide in a way he never expected. Flack/OC with Mac/Stella, DL, Hawkes, Jo, Adam, and Sid.
1. I Would Like to Call it Beauty

_Tulips of Yellow_

_**Prologue: I Would Like to Call It Beauty**_

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"Welcome to Nina's."

The rain slamming against the side of the building muffled her voice, yet did nothing to the merriment it held. The old woman, plump with a head full of gray curls smiled brightly at him. Her mood was clearly unaltered by the weather outside that seemed to be affecting everyone else in the city. Sitting on her stool, she leaned over the table in front of her, trimming the stems from a batch of red roses.

Don Flack did his best to return the smile yet held high awareness in the fact that his existing disposition would falter the attempt. The rain, on top of pulling a double straight from the night shift, was leaving him bitter, a mood not suitable for light conversation. Breaking his gaze from her, he looked around the store he had just entered.

The recommendation had come welcomed from Danny, who had apparently made quite a few trips to the floral shop during his relationship with Lindsay. With his sister's birthday approaching and their relationship improving, Flack opted for flowers instead of another cleverly mixed CD.

The shop was small; a box shaped of a room with tables carrying flowers lined in the center. Displays along the wall held more, each hue blending with the next to create a spectrum of shades stretching as far as his eyes could see. He moved past the first few tables, glancing at some of the flowers that lay peacefully in place. He mentally noted that his lack of flora knowledge disabled any further classification other than color.

Looking ahead, he made his way past the remaining tables in plan of finding the cashier. It was only then that he noticed the strong aroma entering is nose. Feeling a headache already coming along, Flack let out a sigh, wondering if cats were the only things he had to worry about from now on.

Finding the desk at the back of the store, he moved to it, disappointed to find no one standing behind it. He looked back towards the front at the old woman still working her way through the stems. She seemed too content in her current position to be liable for the lack of cashier at that moment.

Turning back, he noticed the small bell placed next to the register. Taking his chances of what it would do to his headache, he inelegantly smacked his hand on it twice, hoping to bring its attention to the missing worker.

"Just a minute." The voice was clouded, coming from the door that led to the back to the store.

With another sigh, Flack leaned on the table, his aggravation growing. Figuring that buying flowers for someone when you were in a bad mood probably wasn't the best idea but he couldn't see any other free time ahead in his schedule so he overlooked his better judgment.

Finally, the door opened, revealing the faceless voice who earlier only added to Flack's headache. He had however, now been facing her, taking in an appearance that he had not been prepared for.

Her descent was unknown to him, maybe originating from an Asian or mixed background. Her light caramel skin flowed like silk along her round face. Her raven black hair was thick, creating a natural volume that other woman would undoubtedly envy, as it hung past her face and lightly brushed the top of her shoulders. The deep blond streaks contrasted heavily with the black, creating for an exotic yet elegant style, or at least in his opinion. Her deep brown eyes, slightly slanted yet still relatively large looked at his as she ran a hand over her face to remove a piece of hair that fell right back to where it was.

"How can I help you?" Her voice was different; it held a natural hoarseness yet still held every ounce of femininity.

His eyes held hers intently fashioning a strong gaze that neither could break. "A friend of my told me you guys have some sort of birthday bouquet special?" he asked rather than stated. His conversation with Danny was slowly becoming a fading memory as he watched the woman in front of him.

There was a small chuckle incorporated with the nod of her head as she reached for a clip board off to the side of the register. She broke her gaze from his for the first time as she looked for a pen.

Finding it, she looked back at him, a smirk playing on her lips as her eyebrows rose ever so slightly. "Girlfriend, right?" she asked in the voice that Flack slowly was becoming too captivated with.

His eyes followed the dance hers seemed to be performing as he managed to find the smile that was lost just moments ago. "Actually, it's my sister. Her birthday's next week."

She chuckled again. "Wow, that's a first," she commented. "Well, if its next week, they should arrive on time."

"Should?" The word stood out to Flack as the woman smiled somewhat bashfully.

"Call it an educated assumption. I don't work here. I'm just filling in for a friend while she's recovering from a cold." The explanation ended in a sigh leaving her evident enthusiasm for the shop to mirror Flack's. "What do you what them to say?"

Confused at her question, his thick Irish eyebrows rose above his eyes, sheltered in their blue intensity. "Them?"

For the third time in the five minutes he'd been standing there, she chuckled. "The flowers. What do you want the flowers to say?"

"You mean other than happy birthday?" The sarcasm came ever so naturally.

She rolled her eyes playfully as she moved from the behind the counter. Her height became known to Flack as he looked down at her much shorter figure. He seemed to be a whole foot over her as she began to walk towards the table closest. Taking it was a cue to follow; he trailed behind her as she nodded her head in the direction of the table.

"Flowers have different meanings based on type and color. If you want to send a certain message, you pick ones that correlate to want you want to say to a person," she explained, her small hand moving lightly across the edge of the table while the other held the clipboard to her chest.

"Like red roses mean love or something right?" he replied, a smirk playing on his lips as she chuckled once more.

"Exactly," she stated. "Red roses mean passionate love but I'm guessing that's not the message you want to send your sister," she added with a laugh, revealing a seemingly perfect set of white teeth.

Flack laughed lightly along with her. "Not exactly," he said in agreement. "What would you recommend?"

She thought for a minute, chewing on her bottom lip. "Younger or older?"

"She's younger." He watched her curiously as she picked up one of the flowers in front of her.

"Ginger. It means proud. I'm going to go with your proud of having her for a sister," she stated, handing it to him.

She continued to walk along the table, as she eyed another one. She stood on the tips of her toes as she reached for one on the other side. Grabbing two, she preceded to hand them to him.

"Jasmines represent grace and elegance, something a woman would like to have said about her. If you're going for the whole 'I'm a great big brother who loves you', they'll play into that."

Flack nodded in agreement, a seemingly permanent smirk on his face as he again followed her to a different table. He noted how her hair swung like a steady pendulum behind her neck as she walked.

"A black-eyed susan for encouragement and a pink carnation for gratitude," she continued. "All surrounded by marigolds." She grabbed a handful of what he presumed were the aforementioned.

"What do they mean?" He labeled his curiosity as the reason for the question.

"They're the flower for the month of October. Since her birthdays in October, I figure they make a nice touch," she said with a slight hunch of her shoulders.

Flack watched her for a moment before speaking. "How is it that you seem to know so much about flowers yet don't work here?" His eyebrows again rose.

She laughed as she set the clipboard down on the nearby table. "No idea," she answered as she moved to take the bunch of flowers that he was now holding. The movement caused her hand to brush against his.

The feel of her soft skin against his created a feeling within him that he hadn't felt in a long time and he did his best to ignore it. He just watched as she took the flowers along with the board back to the front of the store. The strong aroma of the store seemed to pale in comparison to the sweet smell of vanilla that he detected as he once again followed her to the back of the store.

She moved to sit on the stool behind the desk. She wrote some things down before looking back at him. "Name?"

"Don Flack." His eyes watched as she wrote down the name and then looked back at him. She handed him the clipboard and the pen.

"Just right down your sister's address, the date you want them delivered, and the message you want on the card."

He did as he was told, scribbling down the necessary information. When he was done, he handed it back to her and watched as she read over it.

"Love Don," she read aloud. "That's deep," she added jokingly.

Flack laughed as she removed the sheet from the clipboard and placed it in a pile. "You have something better for me?"

"Not really. You seem like a 'love Don' kind of guy. I'm pretty sure anything else what seem out of character." Her smile seemed infectious has her gaze held his own.

"Is that a bad thing?" His natural charm trickled out from the tone of his question.

"Not at all." The reply came simply as the lingering of her voice in the air held more connotations.

His eyes remained on hers as he reached in his back pocket for his wallet, noticing how her eyes followed his movements. His dark coat must have opened slightly as evident in her next question.

"You're a cop?" Her eyes lingered on the gold glistening from his belt momentarily before meeting his.

He couldn't read the expression behind the brown orbs. "Detective," he answered, handing her a few bills.

"Oh," was all she said.

He planned to question it more as her disposition had changed slightly in the discovery of his occupation but the familiar shrill of his phone sounded.

He excused himself and flipped it open. "Flack."

"_Hey Flack. I'm gonna need you to come back in. High profile homicide…a judge."_

Flack replied as he needed to at his captains request. He hung up the phone and looked back in front of him.

"Work?" Her brown eyes questioned.

He figured it wasn't that hard for her to figure out. "Yeah. Thanks for the help." He did his best at a smile but the forthcoming hours were already putting a damper on his spirit.

He was in the middle of moving towards the door when she called out to him.

"You want your change?"

He took one last look at her, shaking his head. "Keep it."

Reaching the door, the old woman looked at him. "Thanks for coming."

As before, the smile couldn't be produced. Stepping back into the rain brought reality back. The loud noises of the streets, the smell of the smog, and the murder about six blocks from where he stood. The abrupt absence of the flower shop removed any sense of calm and normalcy his day would undoubtedly encompass.

It was then he realized that he never even got her name.

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_Author's Note: Thank you in advance for anyone who reads. Reviews, thoughts, ideas, or anything else is welcomed. _

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to CBS._


	2. Before the Storm

_Tulips of Yellow_

_**Chapter One: Before the Storm**_

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"Detective Taylor! Is it true?"

"Detective, is it really Judge Blackburn?"

"Do you have any suspects at this time?"

With his posture stiff, Mac Taylor could feel his blood beginning to boil as his jar became rigid, the back sets of his teeth pushing down hard on each side. He chose not to attempt to respond with the standard 'no comment' for it would only fuel further questions on their part.

The head of the CSI lab had only just stepped out of the department issued black SUV when the reporters flooded to him, microphones and recorders shoved close from every direction. The unspoken respect for one's personal space had proved to be seemingly archaic outside of the Empire Estates building on West 77th street. The rain had continued yet the dampened streets hadn't thwarted the media's presence.

Armed with his kit, he maneuvered skillfully through the multitude of people towards the entrance, brushing shoulders lightly with a few members of the crowd. His grey blue eyes narrowed in on the two officers stationed on each side of the entrance and instantly valued their presence. He was about to reach it when he noticed a different named beginning to be shouted from the crowd.

"Chief Sinclair!"

"Chief Sinclair, can you give any comment to the apparent murder of Judge Blackburn?"

Mac turned to see the man in question making his way towards the front of the building. His dark eyes met Mac's and he gave the slightest of nods as he came and stood next to him. He turned back towards the growing crowd and stood up straighter, his posture alone rendering silence among the feverish reporters. He held up a hand before he began to speak. Even the natural sounds of the city seemed to lesser their volume, showing the authority of his title.

"I want you all to know that the department is doing everything we can to get to the bottom of this." His voice was stern yet held a dash of kindness.

"So you're saying that it is Judge Blackburn?" a courageous reporter spoke up.

"You and I both know I can't disclose any details until the proper time but I can assure you that Detective Taylor and his team will reveal everything you need to know when the time is right." He glanced at Mac, placing a hand on his shoulder creating a bond between the two that only existed in front of the cameras.

"Thank you," Sinclair finished, leaving room for the roar of questions to begin again.

Mac followed behind Sinclair as the two made their way into the lobby of the building, the room introducing a heat that provided comfort to the chill existing outside.

"You know Mac, you're going to have to learn to answer their questions one day," Sinclair said, the diminishing manners of his statement obvious.

"I'm sorry but my job isn't to answer questions or entertain the press. Last time I checked, that's not what you hired me for." Mac's sarcasm was subtle, yet undeniably effective.

Sinclair stopped walking, causing Mac to do the same. He turned to look at him, a harmless yet obvious glare on his face. "Politics are a part of the game Mac. A case like this? You and I both know that you're going to have to get into at some point."

"With all due respect Chief," Mac started, his voice revealing the arrogance he felt for his superior. "That's not my department; it's yours. And if you don't mind, I'd like to get started on processing the scene."

Sinclair stood straight, adjusting his tie and smoothing the front of his suit jacket. "I want this guy found." He gave Mac once last nod of the head before walking away.

Mac watched for a moment, shaking his head before a voice pulled him out of his reverie.

"Just a bowlful of sunshine isn't he?"

Mac tuned to look at Flack, his frown lessening slightly. "Why he insists on pressuring me into the political game, I'll never know."

"I don't know Mac; maybe you're better at it than you think." Flack's sarcasm was clear as Mac shook his head.

"What do you have for me Flack?"

Flack pulled out his notebook as the two begin to walk towards the elevator. "Fifth floor. Our vic is the one and only Judge Catherine Blackburn. The maid came this morning to clean and found her. No witnesses, no sign of forced entry, nothing. I got a couple of my guys searching the trash chutes for signs of a weapon but I wouldn't count on it. My gut tells me this is some type of professional hit."

"Judge Blackburn's definitely has her fair share of enemies. Anyone of them could be a target. I want the files of all of her recent cases, especially those involving anyone known for this kind of thing."

Flack nodded. "Done. You thinkin' mob maybe?"

The two stepped in the elevator as Mac pressed the glove he pulled out of his pocket. "We have to wait and see what the evidence tells us."

Flack nodded again as the two reached their destination.

They stepped out of the elevator and Flack to the lead as they walked out and into the hallway.

The door to apartment 5B was already open with crime tape sealing the entrance way. The two ducked under it and entered the foyer, lined with cream tinted walls and mahogany tiled floors. The wealth of the former resident was clear as every surface was lined with marble statures or golden fixtures.

"It's this way," Flack pointed out as he led Mac past what seemed to be the living room and into another room.

It was clearly an office, each wall lined with bookshelves of a wood that matched exactly with the desk that sat in the middle of the room. Everything seemed to be perfectly in its place except for the dead body leaning over the desk.

She was face down, her short brown hair managing to cover all of her features. It didn't however cover the blood that lay around her face, sitting still in all its viscosity.

Mac sat his kit down and fully pulled on his latex gloves, giving a nod of acknowledgment to Sheldon who was already there, snapping away with the camera in his hand.

Noticing his bosses questioning eyes, the gifted former ME spoke up. "Our vic was killed by a single gunshot wound to the front of the head," he said, lifting up the head to reveal the small hole in the forehead. With a careful hand, he laid it back down as looked back towards his boss. "Body temp tells the TOD is approximately 12 to 14 hours ago."

"So sometime late last night," Flack said as he wrote it down in his notebook. He looked up to see Mac wondering over to the desk. He picked up a book and waved it in Flack's direction.

"A planner."

"Any appointments around our TOD?" Sheldon leaned over closer to Mac.

Mac flipped through a few pages, landing on the current week. "According to this, Ms. Blackburn was having dinner with someone named Ed at 9 o'clock last night."

"Does it say where?" Flack inquired.

"Blue Lake Grill."

"If memory serves me right, that's just a few block from here." Sheldon's voice, as it always did, held an enthusiasm unmatched by others. "So chances are this Ed was the last to see our vic alive."

Mac placed the book back down on the table. "And maybe the first to see her dead."

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The Blue Lake Grill lived up to the stereotypical status of any restaurant located in Manhattan. Dark walls contrasted heavily with the whites of the table cloths. Each table was lined with blue colored dishes, allowing the name to drawn in relevancy.

"Table for one sir?"

Flack held up is hand at the maître d's offer. "Sorry, but maybe next time," he replied, pulling out his badge. "I need to ask you a few questions. Were you here last night, around 9 o'clock?"

"Yes officer. What's this about?" The young blonde man looked up at Flack with curiosity in his eyes.

Ignoring the question, Flack pulled out a photo of Catherine Blackburn that he had retrieved from the woman's home. "Was this woman here last night?"

The man's green eyes focused on the photo, but no hint of recognition came through. "Uh, I don't think so but uh, I mean, I don't really remember faces that well. Sorry."

Flack resisted to urge to roll his eyes and instead pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is there anyone here that would have been working last night, maybe someone who would remember her face?"

His facade was slowly wearing against Flack's commanding presence as his nerves came through more prominent than before. "Um, most people only work the night shift or the day shift. They probably won't get here until later but I can check if you want."

Flack raised his eyebrows as if to say 'Please'.

Taking the hint, the man walked off towards the back of the restaurant.

Flack let out a sigh as he heard the door open behind him. He began to move to the side as he figured he was in the way. While doing so, he turned, surprised to recognize the face behind him.

The action was clearly mirrored as the woman looked up at him, her lips moving into a surprised smile. She pulled out the headphones she had been wearing and looked up at him. "Wow, twice within a couple of hours."

Flack chuckled, her voice giving him the same feeling he had felt earlier when they had met in the flower shop. "It's almost like you're following me."

She crossed her arms in a playful defense. "You're the one who keeps showing up at my places of employment."

"So you work here? Or is this just a favor for another friend?" His eyebrows rose in question as his lips curled.

His comment earned him a laugh as her head shook. "This is my actual job thank you very much."

"Waitress?"

"Cook."

The surprise must have shown on his face as one of her eyebrows rose. "What? I don't look like I can cook?"

Flack shook his head, moving his hands to his pockets. "Just not what I expected I guess," he answered candidly.

She laughed while looking down at the floor, her thick hair following suit. Her head moved back up and her eyes met his. "So something tells me that you're not here for the special."

Flack shook his head, the reason for his being there coming back to him. "Not exactly. I was asking your bus boy about a customer from last night but he hasn't been much help."

"Craig." She nodded knowingly. "What customer?"

Flack reached in the inside of his coat and pulled out the photo he had shown the man identified as Craig, earlier. "Do you recognize her?"

Her brown eyes glanced at the picture just as she nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's Catherine Blackburn," she replied knowingly. "So it's true huh? I saw it on the news before I came here." Her expression had softened as the reality of Flack's presence set in.

"Yeah," he told her, his own tone softening much to his own surprise. "You know her?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I mean, she came in enough for me to know how to cook her steak but that's about it."

"Was she here last night?"

The woman nodded. "Yeah, she was. Around 8 or 9ish I think."

Flack slide the photo back into his back pocket and watched her closely, content to receive reliable information. "Do you happen to know if she came alone?"

Her arms crossed over her chest as she looked up at him. "No, she was definitely with someone. I remember another order came with hers, but I have no idea who it was."

"Would you happen to know who would have seen the other person? Maybe a waiter assigned to that table."

She nodded. "Yeah, sure. None of the night waiters are here now but I can get the name and number so you can call if you want."

Flack nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great."

She sent him a small smile before moving to the podium that formally occupied by the still missing Craig.

She began to flip through what Flack presumed to be the reservation book. "Alright, the reservation was made by Catherine," she told him as her eyes continued to go through the book. "They were seated at table 7." She looked back up at him. "That's Tina Barber's table. I have her number here." She pulled her own cell phone and relayed the information to a seemingly impressed Flack.

"Wow," he commented as he took the number.

"What?" she questioned curiously.

He shook his head, a smirk toying on his lips. "Nothing, you just helped a lot. That's it."

She laughed lightly as she moved from behind the podium. "I do what can I Detective Flack," she said, remembering his name from their earlier encounter.

"Don." His blue eyes softened as he corrected her.

"Don," she repeated with a smile. She held out her hand to his, prompting him to do the same. "Maile." She rolled her eyes when she noticed the smile creeping up his lips. "And I swear you better not make any Miley Cyrus references. One, mine is spelled different, two, I've got a solid 10 years on the girl at least so if anything, she copied it from me. And lastly, it's just a nickname anyway."

"Nickname for what?" His curiosity was getting the better of him.

She looked at him, a grin of her own playing on her lips. "Hali'imaile." She laughed when she saw Don open his mouth in attempt to repeat it. "It's okay. Most people can't say it. It's Hawaiian."

"You're Hawaiian?"

Maile shrugged slightly. "Mom's Hawaiian, Dad's Black," she explained.

Flack smiled, his earlier assumptions somewhat accurate. "I like it."

Maile smiled once more, something that had been becoming increasingly common around him. "Thanks."

Flack sighed, the reality of the situation coming back to him. "Well, I have to get back."

She nodded in understanding. "No biggie. Don't be a stranger though."

Flack watched her closely, uncertainty getting in the way of his next statement. "You know, maybe we should grab dinner one day. Probably not here but something a little more economical and probably a lot less appetizing."

She paused, watching him intently. He couldn't grasp the expression on her face but he swore it hesitation. "That would be cool," she said finally, her voice soft. "You'll have to call me." She reached back to the podium and scribbled her number down before handing it to him.

He looked at it before looking back towards her. "Thanks."

She nodded. "Well, I've got to head back too. Those onions aren't going to chop themselves."

Flack chuckled. "So I'll see you."

"Yup." With one last smile, she turned and retreated back towards the back of the restaurant.

Flack watched her before looking down at the piece of paper in his hands. _Maile_. A sigh came unintentionally as he slide it into his pocket.

Walking back out of the restaurant, he noticed the rain had stopped. The once frigid chill has seemed to diminish as the sun's rays fought for dominancy. The wind still blew, but it was more of a breeze, lightly working to dry things saturated in the rain's path. Flack couldn't help but laugh at the irony of the situation. He didn't know how much her really believed in signs, but clearly, fate was trying to give him one.

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_Author's Note: So first off all, thank you so much to all of you who reviewed the first chapter. I highly appreciate it. Also, special thanks to rebeck, who I couldn't reply too. Again, any feedback is welcomed. I'd love to know how you guys feel about the plot so far. Thanks!_

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to CBS._


	3. Shattered

_Tulips of Yellow_

_**Chapter Two: Shattered**_

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The light October wind blew into the open bathroom window.

Danny Messer, perched on his knee, snapped another photo of the crime scene. The flash of the camera seemed extensively brighter against the radiance of the white linoleum floor of the en suite bathroom. The contrast of the white with the gold of the faucets and accents left the room with a regal air. However, the blood pooling around the large man's head detached the majestic tone and replaced it with a more somber one.

He looked up from his camera when the sounds of footsteps entered his ears.

"Congratulations on your retirement."

His eyebrows rose as his thick New York accent came to. "Thanks but I'm a little young to putting away my kit for good, ya know. Besides, I gotta kid to raise so I'll probably be working for the next 50 years."

Jo rolled her eyes playfully as she held up the greeting card in her hand. "Get in line buddy. I've got a boy in college and a preteen who thinks I make way more than I actually do." Her southern inflection hung on every word.

Danny smiled and looked back in front of him. The body of William Trust laid in front of him, skin pale and open eyes expressionless. After snapping the last picture of the man's face, his gloved hands closed the lifeless eyes.

Jo continued her explanation. "I saw a bunch of these cards on the table in the other room. Seems William was hanging up his jacket for good."

"This is rough. I mean, this guy works at Sing Sing for 35 years; the last 10 as the warden and when he finally decides to retire and leave it all behind…" he trailed off, no further explanation needed on his part.

"You knew him?" Jo questioned.

Danny shook his head. "Not personally but I've definitely heard about the work he's done. Sing Sing's has definitely improved over the past ten years and he's to thank for that."

Jo nodded. "Do we know who found him?"

"We do," a new voice answered.

Both Jo and Danny turned to see Lindsay coming to stand next to Jo in the entryway. "The victim's wife went on a weekend trip to the Hamptons with a few friends. She was planning to come home on Sunday to celebrate his retirement but according to her, he encouraged her to stay longer because she hadn't had time to herself in a while."

"So I take it she agreed?" Danny looked up at his wife.

Lindsay nodded. "She said William was planning to relax during his first official week as a retiree. She got home this morning and found him like this."

"When did their conversation take place?" Jo inquired.

"Saturday evening," Lindsay replied.

Jo sighed as she moved her weight to her other leg. "So that means that the time of death could be anytime between late Saturday and now."

Lindsay nodded in agreement. "I just got finished checking the front door and there's no sign of forced entry."

Danny stood up from his position on the floor and rested his camera on the bathroom sink. "So either our killer somehow got through the apartment door without damaging it or our victim knew the killer."

"Well these are those fancy penthouses. They don't use keys, only key cards," Lindsay explained.

Danny nodded, having seen the type.

One of Jo's hands went to rest on her hip. "Well, if the vic knew the killer, they must have been close."

"What makes you say that?" Lindsay inquired.

"Our vic was clearly killed in the bathroom," Jo started. "There's no sign of any type of a struggle leading up to the bathroom which makes me think William was willingly in here when he was shot. It had to be a guest who he felt comfortable enough to leave in his home when he went to the restroom."

Danny took in her explanation before looking back to the body. "That explains the dried residue I found on his hands. It had the same scent as the soap," he explained, pointing to the sink.

"So in the middle of washing hands, he's shot point blank," Lindsay concluded.

"Seems like it," Danny agreed.

Jo shook her head as her eyes rested on the victim, sympathy inclusive in her dark orbs. "Well, we have to make sure we find who did this." Her eyes moved up, shifting between Danny's and Lindsay's. "A place like this is bound to have security cameras. I'll have them sent over to the lab. Hopefully we'll be able to see our perp."

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Maile having hung her bag and coat in her locker, located in the back of the restaurant, began to tie her hair back, pulling back the few loose strands that always seemed to struggle against her attempts.

Succeeding, she pulled out her chef's coat and began to put it on, fastening the buttons in the front.

The sound of the door open caused her to look up, the fast movement of her head causing a few strands to fall loose, much to her dismay.

Her co worker and friend, Georgina Spears, entered the room, a smirk already plastered on her face.

Undoing the tie from her head to restart the process, Maile raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"What?" Georgina repeated, her British accent floating through the air. "What do you mean what?"

Maile rolled her eyes. "What as in what's with the look you're giving me."

Georgina smiled cleverly as she moved to her own locker. "The look was for you Ms. Thing."

Giving up on her hair, Maile placed on her hips. "I'm not following."

Georgina, pulling on her own chef's coat, smiled at Maile with her bright green eyes, her short brown bob swinging back and forth. "I saw you earlier," she said.

"Again, I'm going to need more details George."

Letting out a groan, Georgina waved her hands around in the air. "I saw you earlier with who I hope to be New York's Most Eligible Bachelor!"

Understanding the reference to Don, Maile chuckled lightly. "Oh."

"Oh? All you can say is Oh?"

"There isn't much to say George. I mean, he's just this guy I met."

Georgina snorted. "You mean to say the hottest guy in the entire city. Hell, the entire world."

It was Maile's turn to snort at her friend's antics. "There isn't much to tell."

"At least tell me that you two are going to go out or something," Georgina pleaded.

Maile shrugged. "I doubt it. I mean he asked and I gave him my number but…"

"But what?" The taller woman interrupted. "What reason could you possible give me for you not going out with the fine specimen of man he is?"

"He's a detective," Maile answered, her voice flat.

"And? Most people would find that to be…oh," she trailed off, the realization hitting her. After a pause, Georgina looked back up at Maile. "Did you tell him?"

"No," Maile answered. "And to be honest, I don't plan to. I mean, it would make things weird."

Understanding, Georgina let out a sigh. "Look, I get it Maile, I do, but if you like him, then I don't think it'll be that big of a deal."

Maile huffed. "It would be a big deal. I just; I really don't want to go down that path ya know."

Georgina nodded as she closed her locker. Heading to the kitchen, she paused at the door. "But you know Maile, if you like this guy, maybe it's worth it," she said before exiting the room.

With her friend's words hanging in the air, Maile turned back to the locker. Moving her hands back up to her head, she attempted once more to put all of her hair into a ponytail.

Aggravated, the attempt was again foiled, leaving her to let her arms to fall by her sides as she let out a groan.

She knew her friend's words made sense, but it wasn't enough. Telling Don the truth wasn't a risk she was willing to take.

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"Alright, thanks Flack."

Hawkes looked up as Mac hung up the phone. "Did he found out about our mystery Ed?"

Mac nodded, slipping his phone back in his pocket. "He managed to get the name of the waitress who served Judge Blackburn last night. She's going to come in to the precinct to work with a sketch artist. We're looking for a white male in his late forties to early fifties with dark brown hair."

Hawkes nodded before his lips slowly curled. "Could be you Mac."

Mac looked at Hawkes with a harmless frown.

Hawkes shrugged, his smiling growing. "Just saying."

"As much as I would have loved to enjoy a night out, I spent my time in the lab doing paperwork. Maybe next time, I'll have to have you join me." Mac eyebrows rose as he held back a smile.

"Point taken," Hawkes replied, his smile remaining on his face.

Mac shook his head as he his eyes moved around the room. His eyes landed on the corner of the back wall.

Noticing, Hawkes spoke up. "What are you seeing Mac?"

Mac pointed to the corner of the ceiling. "It's a motion sensor."

Seeing it, Hawkes looked back at Mac. "Probably belongs to some type of security system. Since there doesn't seem to be any report of it going off, it could mean our vic knew her killer."

Mac nodded. "Or it could simply mean that it hadn't been set at the time…"

His statement was left incomplete as the sudden piercing sound filled the air.

"Get down!" His words never reached Hawkes' ears as the sound of shattered glass overtook the room.

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_Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. It goes without saying that I greatly appreciate it. And I forgot to mention last chapter but Maile's full name, Hail'imaile is pronounced __(HA lee ee MAEE leh). I thought it seemed quite poetic. ;)_

_rebeck: Thank you so much! I'm really glad you're enjoying it! I hope you keep reading. :)_

_crazygal: Thanks! I'm glad you can pick up on the chemistry between Flack and Maile. And thank you so much on the compliment about Mac. Characterization is really important to me so thank you for the words of encouragement! :)_

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to CBS._


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